Utopia
by Monika Forest
Summary: With no countries,we, the personifications are rendered mortal. Some of us take relief in this, some though... have trouble accepting fate. Credit for the cover image goes to MrsCitty 3
1. Chapter 1

He was the last of us to hold on, arrogant and prideful like he is. Or perhaps it was his youth? Immortality had long ago lost its appeal to me, but he still had a childish spark of enthusiasm in his eyes; there was still a world for him to discover, and his soul had not yet been crushed by the hardships of our life.

Now, I'm not saying he hasn't seen hardship. He has fought many a war by my side and on his own, he knows what it is like to be in a conflict with yourself, but viewed side by side with world history, he is still too green, and perhaps a little too powerful, to be affected by this. However, I digress.

In 2XXX the European Union, on the verge of collapse, became desperate. The few Member States that at that point still remained in the Union agreed to lose all borders and unite into a country. This created a fear of the raise of a new superpower. However the response to this move was… unexpected to say the least.

Soon it was the whole of the European mainland that had merged into a mesh of culture and language. There was chaos, at first, of course, but after the Third World War something must have clicked in people that made solving said chaos so much easier. The dwindled down population worked wonders as well. Rules were established, subclauses for areas with different languages made.

A year later I was invited to have tea with the Queen. She told me that she should suffer the most horrible consequences for the treason she had committed against me. As a nation, I stayed silent, mournful. As a person, I thanked her from the bottom of my heart. She bid me farewell and willed me to visit.

Queen Elizabeth the Second passed away in her sleep that night.

There was no longer a nation to mourn her.

He, though, stood tall and proud as ever in these confusing times. God, the world was coming down around the boy and he still fought it with everything he had, clutching his borders and traditions. Even after the whole world had united under a Utopia, the United States of America functioned on in its little bubble for two more years. Perhaps he thought he could come up with a way to fight what he could not comprehend.

Or perhaps what he couldn't comprehend was the reality that he might come to an end.

The TV caught my attention when the monotone hum of the advertisement background music changed, letting the terrified voice of a crowd fill my living room. I raised my eyes from my knitting to see the UBC (Utopia Broadcasting Company) reporter standing in front of the stairs to the National Archives of the United States.

My knitting almost tangled in my hurry to reach for the remote on the table. I jabbed my thumb against the volume up button, only sitting back satisfied once the number on the screen read 70%.

"-the borders were finally opened, letting through the special and armed forced of Utopia. The United States have finally given in, and-"

Movement of a white figure in the background caught my attention and I diverted my eyes to the deserted steps leading up to the Archives. A man stood upon the topmost one, holding something yellow up, like offering it up to the skies. He was garbed in white- the utopian colour.

The crowd fell silent and a cry of "look!" sounded from the cameraman. The reporter turned just fast enough that I could see it, before the camera zoomed in on the man. The scroll in his hand became clearly distinguishable, and then, as if he knew that he was finally being broadcast live, he rolled it open.

The Declaration of Independance hung from his hand, the yellowed paper fluttering in the wind for the first time in long years. The crowd watched in horrified silence and for a moment nothing dared to move.

Slowly, the utopian pulled his other hand from the folds of his robe, raising to the edge of the document a lighter. A push of a thumb and the flame flickered to life, the wind pushing it dangerously close to the declaration. The man pushed it slowly closer, letting the flame lick the side of the paper, charring it.

A scream broke through the crowd, causing an eruption of murmurs as it stirred the people. The utopian stood undeterred, though, and connected the flame to the paper. Dry and old, it was as if it was meant to be swallowed by the flame and in a moment, the Declaration of Independence was gone. Something that I had tried to prevent from happening by so much bloodshed was now just… gone.

"NO!" The same voice that had roused the crowd cried out again. A second later, there was a face to connect to it and I had to wonder why I hadn't recognized the scream before.

...Because I had never heard him scream that way…

Glasses crooked, hair disheveled, he stumbled up the stairs, sneakers slipping on the white marble more often than not.

"YOU CAN'T KILL ME!"

His voice, already hoarse, cracked, prompting a smirk to appear on the face of the utopian. Like a chain reaction, the change of facial expression as if kickstarted something in the American. His dirt covered fingers grabbed the white garb of the utopian, shoving him down against the stairs violently.

"I. AM. AMERICA."

Each word was punctuated by the crack of skull against the sharp edge of the marble. Blood stained the white stone, dripping downwards as a grotesque waterfall, and then all of a sudden, the screen turned black, only to display a technical difficulties message a few seconds later.

For a moment, I kept still, noticing only faintly that my nails dug into my palms and that my eyes stung from having forgotten to blink. Then my mind caught up to my body and I abruptly stood, vision flashing black for a second, but not long enough to deter me from moving to the door. Pulling my shoes on on autopilot with one hand, my other had already dialed a number and the beeping of the phone was drowning out the horrified screams of America from my mind.

Two rings, and then a familiar voice.

"Angleterre?"

"Francis, I need to-"

"Oui, you need to get to America. I'm waiting in Heathrow."

All differences aside, at that moment I could only feel one thing for this man.

"Thank you, Francis."


	2. Chapter 2

It was an odd sort of chaos that was let loose on the streets. I was used to ruined buildings, bomb fragments and terrified people, trying to find their families or trying to save their own skin. Here, on the streets of Washington D.C., people just seemed lost.

It almost reminded me of a scene from a horror movie; everyone was aimlessly walking, bumping into each other, but not reacting to it, eyes searching for something. I don't think they knew themselves what they were looking for. The loss of a nation, I reminded myself, took as much of a toll on people as it did on us… On nations…

It's easy to forget that I'm no longer one.

I pushed open the door to the police department, earning a few looks from the few officers still there. Utopia's new order had not yet been instilled and even the inside of the building had a weird doubtful vibe to it with most desks cleared, but some having immense piles of paperwork. Some were simply used for storage of coffee cups. Had it been tea, I would have taken the advice of the nearby sign and helped myself to one.

A few steps in I was greeted by a man in an expensive black suit who reached out his hand, which I shook. He had a strong grip. "Mr England, I represent Homeland Security and I'm very grateful that you could make it. This matter is a very delicate one, and I'm not sure how to handle it."

"It's just Arthur Kirkland now." I corrected him automatically, catching a slight waver to my voice. Someone still remembered me for what I was? "It was no problem, I was very well aware that this would turn into a hard to handle and delicate matter, thus I flew over as soon as I saw. May I go see him?"

"Of course. He's in interrogation, follow me." He turned and took a course towards the back of the precinct with me shortly falling in step with him. "I was hoping that the three of us and the utopian representative could talk through the possible solutions to our problem. So far we haven't managed to get a word out of him, especially with how much aggression there is between him and the utopian."

"Certainly, that would be the wisest course of action. I simply hope he hasn't yet dug himself into a hole too deep to be helped out of. He has a talent for that, after all," I replied, catching a smile on the face of the American accompanying me. A friend of Alfred's, I presumed, or at least someone important enough to know him.

He held the door for me and I took a hesitant step into the brightly lit interrogation room. Behind a steel table bolted to the floor sat Alfred, eyes fixed on his lap and his hands hidden under the desk. He didn't seem to notice my entrance, and I turned to the agent. "Can I have a moment alone with him?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be outside, simply speak to me when you finish," he replied, shutting the door as he left. Complete silence settled over the room, but even so I knew I had to choose my words wisely. The mirror that so innocently showed my reflection was surely being used to spy on us.

"Come to gloat?" He was avoiding my gaze, staring down the table instead.

"Why would I? I'm in no different situation than you are. Neither of us is a nation anymore." I pulled out a chair and sat next to him. "I came to make sure you don't pull yourself and what remains of us further down into the shitter."

"Nothing remains of _us_ , Arthur," he replied, turning to look at me. "You've been a human for a fucking long while now, haven't you? Nobody ever talks about England anymore. You're forgotten. So why the hell are you really here if there's nothing of your pride left to save?" His reproachful look made me shut my eyes to compose myself. I took a deep breath, massaging my forehead which had now started developing an annoying pain.

"I'm not here to save my pride, you stupid boy, I'm here to save yours. Make this painless for both of us and just do as I say-"

"I didn't ask-"

Uncontrolled, I let my fist slam against the metal table. "For ONCE in your life, you stupid boy, DO AS I TELL YOU!" I tensed my hand on the table, before relaxing my fingers and letting it drop onto my lap. "...Please." A whisper, tired and barely audible.

A silence passed between us as I raised my gaze to study the impact of my words. Though it seemed as there was none; his impassive expression stared me down still, making me wonder if my words had any effect at all. That was, until he finally sighed and sat up straight, directing his gaze to the wall opposite to him.

"Fine," he said, "just tell them to get it over with quickly."

"Good God, you git…" I mumbled only, standing to fetch the Homeland Security representative. After a few minutes of silent waiting, the three of us sat on the opposite side of the table from an Utopian garbed in white, a stack of papers in front of him to add that air of business about him. It served to remind me that my disheveled hair and tired look did nothing to make me look presentable, but I couldn't let it bother me. There still had to be some sort of power that I held and that could help Alfred.

"We've been over this once, but I will state this again for Mr. Kirkland. Alfred F Jones has, in cold blood, murdered a Utopian ambassador to the former United States of America and injured several other lower and higher ranking officers from the Utopian military when resisting arrest. As I'm sure you're well aware, Mr. Kirkland, murder is not tolerated in a utopia, and the punishment for taking a life is, as is fair, death," as he spoke, he extracted a paper from the pile and pushed in front of me a copy of the Utopian law, as if I would doubt his words.

My fingers closed around the thin sheet, applying too much pressure in hopes of stopping their trembling. I should have expected as much, but to hear that said out loud… I turned to gaze at the youthful face next to me, unmoved by the news of his death sentence, though I could see the dark circles under his eyes and how his laugh lines were far more prominent than they had ever been; all signs that he was no longer immortal and invulnerable, like he perhaps believed.

"That was," I said, turning to look at the Utopian, "a deed of a desperate nation. A deed that the United States of America should be accountable for, however… This boy that sits before you is no longer that. He is Alfred Franklin Jones, and by killing him, you will be killing an innocent person. It has always been important that the nation and the person be kept separate, for otherwise everyone, Ludwig, Ivan, Alfred, I… we should all be tried for the murder of millions, and people will start asking you: "Why him and not the others? Were the people who lived before Utopia not people in your eyes?". And then your hands will reach for my throat, and perhaps if that does happen, I will stare you down and tell you; England might have died, but not with its people."

The smug smirk on the Utopian's face faltered, and one extra pair of eyes turned to stare at me.

"You see it, don't you? It might be in the suburbs, but the English are growing restless. They fly the Union Flag when no-one is watching, they hum the anthem when you aren't listening. You know that they cling to me like to a scrap of hope, and what do people do when their hope is killed off?"

"Mr. Kirkland, that almost sounds like a threat."

The corners of my mouth drew up arrogantly, and my calmed fingers folded the piece of paper and slid it across the desk once more. "Almost? I must not be trying hard enough."

With a fell swoop of a hand, the papers were dragged into a professional-looking briefcase and the Utopian stood, his small eyes cold upon my face. "Very well. However next time one of you freaks pulls anything like that, we won't be swayed from handing out justice."

The door closed behind him and I slumped slightly forward, taking a long overdue breath. What the hell was I thinking, saying all that to his face? Had any of my colonies dared say that to my face, I would have taken it as a sign of treason, an invitation to war.

"If I may say, Mr. Kirkland, that was kinda stupid of you. But thank you for what you did, I would have never expected someone to do something like that for Alfred," the man from Homeland Security said, before setting a key to Alfred's handcuffs on the table. "Take care of yourself, and him."

With him gone, it was only Alfred and me in the room and silence set upon us again. I couldn't blame him, I thought as I undid his handcuffs, just a few years ago he had been perhaps the most powerful nation, and now… Now, I assumed, he was tired.

"Alfred, I'll take you home. You're in no state to drive," I said, slipping my hands around his and standing. He remained seated, though, and I only felt his fingers squeeze my hands.

"Thank you, Arthur, it was… I appreciate what you did," he said, silently, with his ego taken down a few notches, I assumed. Any other time, I would have made fun of him, however… well, Alfred seemed to foreign with his silent voice and tired gaze that I couldn't help but to wish he would leap up and make a loud announcement about being a hero. Come to think of it, over the few years I hadn't seen him, I really… even missed that.

Requiring no aid from me, but still gripping my hands tightly, Alfred stood, and it took me a moment to realize that he was not planning on letting go. I allowed myself a smile; it was, frankly, adorable. So with him clinging to me (even though his face remained comically stoic), we started our little walk towards the outside.

"It seems like England is still kicking in it's own way, huh…" he said, as we walked, subject to many intrigued gaze.

"Oh you know how it goes. There will always be an England, and that England will be free…"

A slight pause, before, to my surprise, Alfred continued; "If England means as much to you, as England means to me."


	3. Chapter 3

I stopped the engine of Alfred's Jeep, silencing its gasoline-needy growling to let the eerie silence take over. For America's capital to be so silent…

I leaned back against the backrest and turned my head slightly towards the sleeping boy in the passenger seat. There was still a streak of blood on his face, and his glasses were cracked, probably from when he tried to resist arrest. My hand reached to shake his shoulder, but dropped after a second; I didn't have the heart to wake the poor lad. Instead, I closed my own eyes, focusing on his heavy breathing, and letting the world blur away for a few moments, thinking that I'd wake him later.

Alas, I must have forgotten myself, as I was awakened by the sleepy mumble of my name. I opened my eyes, only to find Alfred's inquisitive gaze opposite of me.

"Where are we?" he asked, pushing his glasses onto his head to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Your home," I responded, sitting upright and opening the door. "I figured I should let you sleep."

"Ah. Thanks," was all I got in an unusually laconic reply. Obviously disinterested in keeping the conversation alive, Alfred exited the car and was off towards his apartment, equally as disinterested in waiting for me.

I rolled my eyes at his retreating form. Ever since we exited the police precinct, practically in each other's arms he had been acting borderline hostile towards me, and now this storming off, leaving me in the car.

I could drive off with it.

I quirked my brows. What a peculiar thought… did mortals often have these? With how materialistic they were, perhaps… Ah, but who am I to lay judgment on materialistic behaviour, having owned an empire onto which the sun never set.

Chuckling at my trail of thought, for who else is there to appreciate my wit, I exited the car as well, locking the doors. Anyone else, I imagined, would have taken Alfred's behaviour as a cue to get lost, however my flight home wasn't leaving until the next day and, having flown all the way out here just to help the ungrateful git, I wasn't keen on paying for a hotel when I could simply sleep in his many, unused guestrooms.

And, maybe, I was a bit worried.

And if so, then only just a tiny bit.

Thus, I followed Alfred into the apartment building, and from there up to the twentieth floor with the elevator. To my surprise, his apartment door stood open. How reckless, I probably wasn't the only person moving in the building!

"Alfred?" I shut the door behind me and took off my shoes, orderly setting them by it, only to notice Alfred's sneakers strewn around the place. My eyebrows knitted together; at least the blood on them was dry and didn't get everywhere. He had stepped in a lot of it.

"Alfred, learn to put your shoes away once, will you?" I wasn't sure he was even in hearing range, as I collected the footwear from the floor and set it to the side so I could clean the blood from them later. That done, I peeked around the corner, only to see Alfred sprawled out on the living room couch, feet dangling over an armrest.

"Alfred! Good grief, you haven't even taken those bloody clothes off! Get up, have a shower and get changed before you pass out on white furniture!" I huffed, folding my arms when the boy raised his head to glare daggers at me, though that expression only lasted a second. He knew very well that his temper tantrums didn't work on me.

"Fine, mom…" he grumbled, almost rolling himself off the couch. My heart softened somewhat for the lad as I watched him groggily venture towards the bathroom. I couldn't blame him for being tired and worn out, a lot had happened, but even so, he had to take care of himself better.

"Leave the clothes in the bathroom, there's nothing to do about the bloodstains, I'll toss them for you," I called after him, receiving a grunt in response. He probably knew this very well, and suddenly I felt rather silly for being so incredibly doting with him. Two hundred years he had spent proving himself to the world… perhaps I shouldn't ignore it simply because I wish not to see it.

It was long overdue that I let go of my grudge against Alfred, especially now with mortality weighing upon both of our shoulders. I wasn't going to deny that a part of me wished that the world had barked back and that his independence would have been too much for him to handle, but it hadn't turned out so. Even with all the quirks and bad habits of his that I disapproved of, he proved to be much greater than I.

I had never had to think that, but… my life, as it stood, was too short to bear grudges over such matters. It was time, now that my future was cut short, to come to terms with the past.

Pondering all that, I picked up Alfred's bloodied and cheese scented sneakers, bringing them to the kitchen to give them a scrub under the sink. It wasn't that I was particularly fond of cleaning up after Alfred, however, at least it gave me something to do. Truth be told, I felt rather out of place here. The tensions between me and Alfred, which had never really disappeared completely, made me think I was not all too welcome, and yet, my pride would not let me leave, either.

I scrunched up my nose as I was forced to remove several piles of dishes with moldy bits of food on them from the sink to place the sneakers there. Alfred had always been a sloth, however, the state of his kitchen proved that he had been neglecting taking care of himself more than can be excused by teenage laziness.

Sighing, I turned on the water and waited for it to warm up, before starting to scrub the sneakers with a bar of soap. I'd get to the dishes later, and I figured his bedroom also needed some cleaning. God knows that's where he had his consoles and TV and computer and where most of the muck produced by Alfred piled up.

The water swirling down the drainpipe had carried away most of the blood and dirt by the time I heard the bathroom door open and close. For a moment, I heard no footsteps, before Alfred moved again, probably coming for the sound of running water in the kitchen. And indeed, a few moment later, he leaned next to me on the counter, dripping water all over the floor and clad only in a towel, loosely thrown around his hips.

Stubbornly, I kept my eyes on the draining water, painfully aware of how close his almost-naked form was to me.

"What are you doing that for? I could have cleaned those," he said, before proceeding with the ritual that commenced each time he came into the kitchen; Alfred opened the fridge door and stared at the hollow bowels of the household appliance. A stench of spoiled milk wafted through the kitchen and I shut off the water with a sigh.

"Like you've been cleaning the dishes? You live as if on a pig farm, boy, look at how much mold there is on these," I made a sweeping gesture towards the pile of dishes. "I'm surprised there are no maggots wriggling around the place."

"Yeah yeah, Alfred's a lazy, dirty pig, I know the drill, Art, and I really ain't in the mood," he replied, pulling the milk carton from the fridge and raising it to his nose. Slamming the door, he brought it over to me and reached it out. "Does this smell off to you? I can't tell."

I took a precautionary step back from the offered milk; the stench was almost nauseating. "Alfred, I could smell that it was off the moment you opened the fridge. Do you really not smell it?" How long had he been living like this to become so desensitized to the smells?

"Nah. But that's all there was in the fridge anyway," he said, a pout crossing his face as he set the carton on the counter, adding to the list of things I had to take care of. "I guess I should go see if anyone's keeping a shop open today. Or a takeout place." His words were followed by a large, overacted yawn.

I rolled my eyes; as if that was really necessary for me to tell the brat to go to bed. "I'm sure I can find some pasta to cook, Alfred. Go sleep, but do it in a guest room, please, I want to clean up your room."

"What? Arthur, I don't need a personal housekeeper-"

"Yes you do," I interrupted him promptly. "You can't even smell the way it stinks in here, and I'm not blaming this on you, I know it's been hard. I'm just saying, I want to help while I'm here."

For a second, his look was such that I expected him to kick me right out, but a sigh softened his features and he turned, leaving me to my own devices. Apparently, I had a day of cleaning in front of me.

I heard the door to the guest room slam shut and as it did, I lifted a stack of dishes into the sink. Quite happily, I let the autopilot take over and lost myself into work.

There was a bit of a draft going through the house, however, I had managed to get the scent of rotting food and unwashed clothes out not a few hours later, and quite in time too, as there was a knock on the door. With Alfred still sleeping, his snores ringing through the house, I took it upon myself to answer the door. After fumbling with the lock, I pulled the door open to reveal Francis, standing there in all his unshaved glory. But, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see the frog face.

"You look shittier than you did a few hours ago," I said, beckoning him in. "How did you manage that?"

"Oh, you know. Found the nearest dumpster and rolled around in it. It helps with human interaction, then not everyone is quite as blinded by my stunning radiance and dashing looks."

Stopping in the kitchen doorway, I turned and looked at him, trying to hide my smirk behind a scowl of disapproval, but failing. He seemed to relax as well a bit and a laugh fell from his lips. "Some things never change, huh?"

A few minutes later, both of us were seated at the kitchen table, mugs of steaming tea in our hands.

"What are you doing here, Francis? Decided to freeload on Alfred as well for the night?" I asked, stirring the sugar in my tea. I was still unable to wipe the slight smirk off my face; this was the first casual human interaction I had had in a while.

"Something like that. All the hotels and guest houses are closed, which is not really surprising." He took a sip of his tea, and after setting the cup mug down stared at his reflection in the liquid. "I have wrinkles, Arthur," he said, after a brief pause.

"They're not that bad," I replied, "give you character and such. God knows you could use some of that." Even that, I thought, sounded half-assed, but I didn't want to upset Francis any further. A vain being like him would certainly be dismayed by the disappearance of his eternal youth-

"Do you think we'll go to heaven, Arthur?"

I raised my head, eyebrows arched at the unexpected question. "Pardon?"

"If I die," he started again, trailing a finger over the wrinkles on his forehead, "do you think I'll go to the same place as her?"

"Ah." I looked down. His facade sometimes made me forget his true colours. "I doubt I could sound very convincing if I told you that you're certainly heading to heaven, but… If there is an afterlife, Francis, then I think you deserve to spend it with her."

There was a silence, which stretched on for a minute before it was broken by the scraping of Francis' chair against the floor. I realized suddenly, that what had alerted him was the ringing of a doorbell that I had missed entirely, too caught in the moment. With his usual, elegant movements, he stood, pausing by my side on his way to the front door.

"If there is an afterlife, then I was given the chance to see her again. But you were also given a chance at something you've long been seeking. Don't squander it, little brother."


End file.
